


Redemption

by cywscross



Series: Second Chances [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Regulus Black Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once in his life, Regulus just wants to do something for himself. Something right. Perhaps even something good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet that reads more like a summary of one of several Regulus plots I have squirreled away. Totally didn't mean for it to get this long, I was really just playing around with graphics again, and then boom, it became this.

 

 

For once in his life, Regulus just wants to do something for himself. Something right. Perhaps even something good. He lost the chance to make his brother proud years ago ( _Why did you leave me behind? Why didn’t you take me with you?_ ), and he’s never been anything but a spare in the eyes of his parents, _the one they were stuck with_ ever since the rightful heir proved to be a disappointment ( _Why couldn’t Sirius be more like you? Why couldn’t you be Sirius?_ ).

So he turns on the Dark Lord who dares to hurt the only friend he still has ( _a house-elf but a friend nonetheless, the only one to remain beside him_ ), and he walks away from a madman he never truly wished to serve. It is easier than he thought he would be, freeing in a way he never expected. It is the first decision he has ever made _for himself_ , and that alone makes all the accompanying terror worth it.

Regulus is a Black, the Black heir, with all the charm and cunning and talent that comes with it, and so he is accepted into the Death Eater ranks without question but largely overlooked because of his youth. It gives him free reign to listen and learn and still go unnoticed, and so when the Dark Lord comes knocking, requesting – _demanding_ – to borrow a house-elf, and Kreacher returns days later, frightened and hurting and babbling about caves and Inferi and lockets, Regulus knows exactly what his old friend is talking about.

It fills him with fear and disgust, but that’s nothing new, so he pushes forward all the same and keeps his head down and plots the Dark Lord’s demise.

The locket is… not easy to retrieve. The potion brings him to his knees as nightmares and twisted memories fill his mind, and he knows he will feel the cold, clammy hands of the Inferi, along with the chill of the cave’s waters closing over his head for the rest of his life, but Kreacher gets him out, saves him, squirrels him away in a secret room to recover when it becomes clear that the entire world believes the Black heir dead, and that too, Regulus will never forget.

When his strength finally returns, the locket is waiting for him, and the Dark Lord is – miraculously – none the wiser. Regulus has done his research, and so fiendfyre is the first order of business. The flames crumple the locket into useless metal before squeezing out a billow of smoke that almost looks like a face and glares murderous red eyes at him, only to emit a high-pitched scream of rage moments before it dissipates entirely.

Excellent. The first Horcrux is gone. And Regulus only died momentarily. He supposes this is what a Gryffindor would call a smashing success.

Still, there are at least two Horcruxes left to destroy – the one in Lucius’ possession, and the other in Bella’s – and Regulus only has vague ideas of how to reach those.

 

 

But before he can decide what to do next, the Dark Lord dies. Killed by a baby, James and Lily Potter’s son. Which is ludicrous in Regulus’ opinion but that is what all of Wizarding Britain celebrates.

And yet, the Dark Lord is not dead. He is gone, for now, but he has anchors still, and until those are gone, the Dark Lord will remain alive.

Regulus is many things but he has never been one to leave a task unfinished.

So he packs his belongings, necessities and books and the key to his private vault at Gringotts. His mother is sick and veritably insane – even _more_ insane – at this point, with only an empty house for company, so it takes little effort to slip an untraceable poison into her food and have Kreacher deliver it.

He has never loved her, but she has never loved him either, only the prestige that a ‘perfect son’ could bring to the Black name.

(Look at them now – one crazy and in prison, another disowned, the third married and in good political standing but disdained by most of Britain for being a Slytherin and a Malfoy and a suspected Death Eater, and the rest scattered and dead from the war the Dark Lord brought to their doorstep. There is nothing proud about the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black anymore, if there ever was.)

When he leaves, he takes Kreacher with him, of course. The elf is visibly relieved to not be left behind to rot – Regulus wonders how he could think he would be left behind to begin with.

They don’t leave Britain but Regulus chooses out-of-the-way towns along the coast to stay in. He learns to blend in with the Muggles, as much as it chafes, but it is safest this way. There are still Death Eaters out there who have escaped Azkaban, and Order members and Aurors who might recognize Regulus and realize he isn’t as dead as everyone thinks. After a while, especially after he purchases his own apartment, he even gets used to it. He still dislikes Muggles but their architecture at least isn’t so bad, and he figures out how to use the television and a phone quickly enough. He even says hello to Evelyne Holt in 25 whenever they bump into each other in the morning. She seemed flustered when he kisses her hand the first time though so he doesn’t do that again. They go for coffee sometimes, and even a few dinners. He tells her – as close to the truth as he can without being too vague – about his schooling and family, and she tells him about her university courses, about how she wants to become a doctor, and he has to go home and peruse several borrowed Muggle texts from the local library to not look like a complete imbecile in front of her. Muggle literature is shockingly… not uninteresting, and dining with Evelyne is shockingly… not unpleasant.

It’s nice enough that he always enjoys his time with her.

Mostly however, he throws himself into research instead, delving further into Horcruxes and where the Dark Lord may have hidden his and how Regulus can get to them.

Lucius’ is easiest, after some debate. Regulus just sends Kreacher after it. House-elves are so often overlooked and dismissed, and the Malfoys are certainly arrogant enough to do just that.

Kreacher comes back with a black diary soaked in Dark magic so thick and slimy that Regulus feels dirty just touching it. He throws it into a triple-warded oven and sends another blast of fiendfyre after it. It screams, just like the locket did, except this one is even louder and cracks the wards surrounding it before it finally shrivels up and dies, taking the diary, the oven, and most of the kitchen with it.

Bella’s is next. Unfortunately, Gringotts is warded against house-elves so Regulus will have to retrieve it himself.

In the end, he breaks in. He considers going through legal channels to try and seize the Lestranges’ vault but that might alert parties he doesn’t want alerting, and he can’t risk that. He has no desire to end up in Azkaban or even on the run.

He becomes the first wizard in living memory to successfully break in and steal from Gringotts, and none of the goblins even got a good look at his face, though admittedly, that might have something to do with the two dozen rampaging hippogriffs he conjures as a distraction on his way out. Releasing the dragon after he sneaks past it probably doesn’t help either.

But he gets the goblet, and he only almost got singed by the dragon, and – disillusioned – he even gets to sit and laugh – slightly hysterically and very, _very_ relieved to be alive – at the panicking Aurors down below from his perch on a nearby rooftop, so all in all, Regulus thinks he’s done a pretty decent job so far.

Three down. However many more to go.

He’s seeing something of a pattern emerging though. The diary was from the Dark Lord’s childhood, a symbol of Hogwarts perhaps, but the locket belonged to Slytherin, and the goblet, Hufflepuff. Logically, shouldn’t that mean the Dark Lord at least tried to get his hands on something that belonged to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively as well?

So that's the turn his research takes next as he tears apart the Dark Lord’s past. But in-between looking up old trinkets that once belonged to the Hogwarts Founders, he also has Kreacher bring him the Prophet again now that the post-war, anti-Dark propaganda and Death Eater extermination should be dying down.

He gets the shock of a lifetime when he finds his brother’s name amongst those now locked away in Azkaban.

Well, that just won’t do.

He hunts down Peter Pettigrew with a wrath so cold it burns in his chest right up until he has the rat in a cage and – after careful scoping – dropped off on Auror Amelia Bones’ desk via Kreacher with a note stuck to the cage to explain.

Pettigrew was always a poor excuse for a wizard, for a _man_. Of course, the one time Regulus tried to warn Sirius after the rat joined the Dark Lord during Regulus’ sixth year, he almost got a furious Stunner to the face courtesy of his dear Gryffindor brother, and – thoroughly incensed himself – Regulus stormed off and didn’t try again.

Perhaps he should’ve tried again. Another debt for him to pay, it seems.

He monitors the papers carefully until Sirius’ freedom and Ministerial apology is front-page news, along with Pettigrew’s arrest and new residency in Azkaban. There’s also a request for whoever turned in Pettigrew to step up and receive the Minister’s personal thanks.

Regulus scoffs, tosses the paper aside, and gets back to work on Horcrux hunting.

It takes him four years. In those four years, he tracks down two more Horcruxes – Ravenclaw’s diadem and the Gaunt ring. The former is retrieved by Kreacher, the latter by Regulus, which comes closer to killing him than the goblet and the locket combined. He’s beginning to think he has the lives of a cat.

He can’t find anything that connects the Dark Lord with an item that belonged to Gryffindor so he resorts to hoping there isn’t one. Five Horcruxes are bad enough; surely there aren’t anymore?

Hoping is for fools though. Regulus needs hard proof, and he’ll only get that once the Dark Lord’s spirit appears again, either with a vessel or looking for a vessel. Or looking for revenge. Or both. Probably both.

So with free time on his hands for the first time in five years, Regulus lets himself relax, even while he starts digging up everything he can find on the Potter boy.

It isn’t hard. Everyone and their grandmother knows the Boy Who Lived – Regulus barked out a laugh at that moniker when it first came out – now lives with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. There was a huge controversy about it at the beginning that even Regulus heard about, and against Dumbledore of all people. Apparently, the esteemed Headmaster wanted Potter to live with his Muggle relatives, something which had the Wizarding world torn and in an uproar. On one hand, _Muggles_ , raising the _Boy Who Lived_. On the other hand, _Dumbledore_ , enough said. Also, let’s not forget the vicious werewolf.

But Sirius won custody in the end, and rumour has it that he and Lupin aren’t even on speaking terms with Dumbledore these days, something that never fails to make Regulus smile. He’s never liked Albus Dumbledore. Like can recognize like, and Regulus knows a first-class manipulator when he sees one. He’s never understood why Sirius didn’t see it too, but at least his brother isn’t so blind anymore.

He goes to see them, once. Out of sight of course, and polyjuiced to his gills. He doesn’t really know why, couldn’t put his finger on an exact reason if pressed, but when he catches sight of them, it makes his heart ache at how happy all three of them look, the boy holding hands with both Sirius and Lupin, skipping along and chattering happily about something that makes both his pseudo-parents laugh.

Regulus almost leaves right then and there, but something makes him linger, and he senses it not three seconds later – _a Horcrux_.

He’s been around them, so many of them, that he’s attuned to them like a dog on a scent by now, and it’s- it’s _coming from the Potter boy_.

He immediately zeroes in on the scar, and everything clicks into place.

Oh dear Merlin.

He does leave then, and then he spends the rest of the night downing firewhiskey like it’s the last day on Earth.

He is not, he is _not_ , going to kill a _kid_. If he can help it, he never wants to kill anybody ever again, but especially not _children_. And especially not _his brother’s godson_.

So he does the only thing he can do – he does more research. He may not be able to win a duel against Bella or Narcissa or even Sirius but he’s a genius in his own right, has invented his own spells and wards, and he’s worked hard enough that he was once offered an apprenticeship for both Charms and Ancient Runes upon graduation.

He just turned them both down to join the Dark Lord. It will always be the biggest mistake he’ll ever make.

 

* * *

 

 

He packs up once more and leaves Britain with Kreacher in tow for the first time in his life. The libraries here are too small, he finds, too regulated and prejudiced towards the Light, so he goes looking for more, to France, to Germany, to Russia and China and Japan, to Egypt and the Americas and back around to Norway and India and all the way down to Malaysia.

It takes him another seven years of exploring obscure tombs and tracking down long-lost ritual grounds and conversing with centaurs and goblins and runemasters and sphinxes, picking up different cultures and customs while he’s at it, and he gets tossed out and threatened and even cursed at – figuratively _and_ literally – more than once when they realize what he’s asking about, but he does it. He creates a method to extract a Horcrux from a living container without damaging the container.

He returns to Britain, weary down to his very bones. It’s nice to step foot on British soil again though, even better to secure his old apartment for himself once again. He hasn’t had the best life here but it’s still his home. Evelyne’s still next door even, older, with a few faint laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but when she sees him, she drops her bag with a strangled scream before springing at him with a hug that – much to his own surprise – Regulus returns with genuine delight even if he gets a mouthful of blonde hair in the process. Neither of them minds.

She’s a _Muggle_ , and he’s _missed_ her. Merlin he dearly hopes his mother is rolling in her grave.

They go out for coffee. Even before he moved out, he sensed that she fancied him, so when she boldly tells him that she wants this to be a date, that she wants a relationship and she regrets not asking him last time when she thought she would never see him again, Regulus is only surprised because he didn’t think her feelings would last this long. She’s his age after all, and most witches would be married with a child or two by now.

But Evelyne isn’t a witch, and she’s brave and intelligent and beautiful and looking at him with hope in her eyes and her heart in her hands, and Regulus somehow forgets the gentle rejection on the tip of his tongue, thinking instead, _I could_.

But it wouldn’t be fair, would it? He could still die when he inevitably faces Voldemort one last time. He could die if Sirius catches him before he can get at Potter.

And he can’t knowingly enter a relationship with someone who doesn’t know the core of what he is.

So he tells her. The Statute of Secrecy shouldn’t even apply to him anymore since he’s legally dead. And if Evelyne doesn’t take it well, then he can always wipe her memory, as much as he’ll regret it.

But all she does is listen with wide eyes, fascinated when Regulus shows her a few simple pieces of magic once they’re in the privacy of his apartment, and she doesn’t run away screaming, even when Kreacher appears with a pop beside her.

She tells him he’s amazing.

He takes a deep breath and tells her about their history and prejudices, and then about the war and finally his stint as a Death Eater.

She grows silent and solemn and grave after this, but still she stays, and she _listens_.

And then she tells him he’s an idiot but he’s brave and he’s changed and he’s not that person anymore and _you better help this Potter kid and you better survive it or I’ll never forgive you._

He kisses her that night, a promise to try his best and a wealth of gratitude all rolled into one, and even though it’s just next door, he walks her home.

He doesn’t love her, but he thinks he could.

First though, he has to finish what Voldemort started. Dumbledore can play his games, but for the first time since he was born, Regulus can see a future in front of him, a life he wants to live. He has no more time for games.

He’s been keeping track of the dates so he knows Harry Potter is due to enter Hogwarts this year. The whole world does, which very likely means the Dark Lord does too, and if Regulus has guessed as much, then no doubt, Albus Dumbledore has as well.

And he has the sneaking suspicion that the Headmaster wants to use the Potter boy for _something_. Most likely bait.

He’s right, of course.

He has Kreacher spy on Potter for him throughout the year, and he figures out there’s a Philosopher’s Stone in the school by Yule. By Easter, he knows Quirrell is possessed, and by June, he knows Potter and his three friends – a Ravenclaw named Granger, a Hufflepuff who also happens to be the new Head of the DMLE’s niece, and Blaise Zabini from Slytherin of all people, _and_ _how do those four even work?_ – are going after the Stone to stop the Dark Lord from getting his hands on it.

Yes, it is exactly as insane as it sounds. Evelyne buries her face in her hands, and her frown is more worried than ever, but then she forces herself to calm, double-checks Regulus has everything he needs to go duel the Dark Lord, and then kisses him once, fierce and demanding, and tells him in no uncertain terms to come home.

Regulus has never wanted anything more.

He goes. Kreacher apparates him right into the third floor corridor, and then Regulus makes the rest of the way on foot, with strict instructions for the elf to stay away until Regulus calls. Kreacher wrings his hands but nods. Somehow, he still looks stubbornly ready to disobey should Regulus come too close to dying.

Just like last time.

He sighs and moves on. There’s nothing for it now.

The Cerberus, the Devil’s Snare, the keys and chess and troll are all easy to breeze past. Dumbledore may as well have written a welcome sign and rolled out the red carpet.

The enchanted fire, he has to ward himself before he walks through, since the middle glass is already empty. Blaise is unconscious but alive back in the chess room, with Granger and Bones hovering next to him, so – ahead – lies only the Dark Lord and Potter.

Voldemort and Potter.

Regulus thinks of everything he’s done up until now. He thinks of his brother. He thinks of Evelyne and how she thought he was brave and how she must be waiting for him to come home even now.

It is time to end this.

 

* * *

 

He plunges through the flames. Even with the wards wrapped like a cloak around him, it is difficult to breathe.

But then he is through, and for a moment, neither Potter nor Voldemort notices him, too intent on each other and the mirror.

Regulus has never been above taking the underhanded route.

He strikes like the snake he is, swift and sudden and aiming for death.

Voldemort dives out of the way and fires back a curse that leaves a red line across Regulus’ cheek but Regulus is fortunate. It is still Quirrell’s body that Voldemort is stuck in, and so it is Quirrell’s talents and reflexes that Regulus must contend with.

Regulus may not be the best duellist but he is certainly well above Quirrell’s level.

Voldemort shrieks with rage and recognition as Regulus fires spell after spell, pinning him down with a rain of curses and giving the Potter boy time to crawl shakily away behind a pillar.

Good enough.

Regulus lets up for a beat, two, just enough to have Quirrell pop his head out.

Regulus grins, as vicious and mad as any true Black.

“ ** _Avada Kedavra._** ”

 

* * *

 

Quirrell drops like a sack of potatoes. Voldemort’s spirit rises from the corpse, and it doesn’t even have time to turn in Potter’s direction before Regulus lunges and captures it, weaving complex spellwork around the spirit until it is as trapped as Pettigrew once found himself after Regulus caught up to him.

It beats its gaseous head against the enchanted glass of the jar that Regulus sticks him in, black mouth open in an endless scream of futile anger.

Regulus shoves the jar into his robes, heart pounding away in his chest, blood roaring in his ears with adrenaline, but he turns to Potter without delay, and the boy doesn’t have his wand but he still seems to find it prudent to stick his head out from behind the pillar and stare shakily – _defiantly_ – up at Regulus.

Regulus cocks his head, regarding the boy coolly. He doesn’t have time for niceties. “Does your scar hurt?”

Potter blinks, evidently startled, but after a moment, he nods once, jerkily, and then asks, “Who- Who are you?”

Regulus debates this question for all of two seconds. “A friend. Your scar. I can stop it from hurting.”

The boy’s brow crinkles, and he doesn’t move. Well at least he has _some_ sense, even if not much. “I- But it only hurts when I’m near- near Voldemort, and- and you’ve captured him, right? You can- You can get rid of him?”

Regulus figures honesty will get him what he wants fastest, even if it might be traumatizing for the boy. “I cannot get rid of the D- of Voldemort. No one can. Not until his last anchor to this world is gone.”

The boy is quick, Regulus will give him that. One small hand comes up to clap against his scar, and his green eyes widen with horror behind his glasses. “His- My scar is-”

“Yes,” Regulus cuts off the stuttering. “However, I can get rid of it, without harming you. But I need you to come with me right now.”

Potter goes stiff from shoulders to hands. He rears back and demands, “Why should I trust you?”

“Well, I believe I just saved your life,” Regulus reasons evenly. “And if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve just let the D- let Voldemort do it and never stepped in to begin with.”

The boy relaxes an inch. His gaze flickers from Quirrell’s dusty corpse to the flames and then back to Regulus. “I- Why can’t you get rid of- of _it_ here?”

Regulus’ lips curls. “There are certain parties who won’t be happy to see me since I am not the most popular with Dumbledore.”

This, of all things, makes Potter smile, wane but real enough. “Yeah. Neither are Dad and Tad.”

He hesitates, and then finally rises from his corner and takes several cautious steps towards Regulus.

Foolish boy. He should’ve asked whether Regulus is popular with his parents.

“I- You look-” Potter trails off uncertainly for a moment. “You look… familiar.”

Regulus stills. “…Do I?”

Potter nods and drifts a few steps closer. “Have we- I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” Regulus says curtly. He eyes the boy critically for a second longer. “Will you come with me? We haven’t much time. No doubt, your friends are already on their way to retrieve an adult.”

_As you should have done to begin with_ , Regulus adds somewhat sardonically in the privacy of his own mind, and he wonders if this is how most adults feel when faced with a reckless child.

Still, the boy dithers. He’s within two feet of Regulus now, and he searches Regulus’ face like he’s looking for something he thinks should be there.

There’s a commotion from beyond the flames, and Regulus knows their time is up.

Potter spins on his heel just as the flames part, and Dumbledore bellows, “Harry!”

Regulus’ hand shoots out, closing around the boy’s shoulder and pulling him close. He looks up, and for a fraction of a second, his gaze meets the distinctive blue of the Headmaster’s.

And then, “Kreacher,” Regulus murmurs, and with two consecutive cracks, he and the boy are gone.

 

* * *

 

The ritual is complicated but Regulus invented the damn thing – he knows what he’s doing so it isn’t as hard as it might be for someone else.

Kreacher apparates them to a shadowed corner of the street Regulus’ home is on, and before Potter can do more than open his mouth, no doubt to scream bloody murder, Regulus gives him a moderated shake by the shoulders and interjects tersely, “Regulus Black lives at number 26, Templeton Place, London. Understand?”

Potter’s jaw hangs open, and he gawks with unsightly decorum until Regulus rolls his eyes and shakes him again. Living with Sirius has – unsurprisingly – done this boy no favours in the manners department.

Potter snaps his mouth shut. “I-” He shakes his head. “Oh, you mean the Fidelius! I got it.” He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is very quiet. “… _Regulus Black?_ ”

“Yes,” Regulus answers bluntly, ushering Potter towards his apartment. “Now come.”

 

* * *

 

Evelyne is waiting inside, and she ambushes him the moment he enters, checking him over with an anxious eye like she expects to see him mortally wounded.

Potter gapes again when Evelyne – satisfied with Regulus’ continued wellbeing once she’s staunched the cut on his face – turns her attentions and a kind smile on him, and Regulus leaves them to it in favour of passing his outer robes – along with the jar containing the Dark Lord _bloody hell_ – to Kreacher and going over to check the ritual preparations once more.

“You’re a Muggle!” Potter blurts out minutes later, and before Regulus can stop himself, he turns and pins the boy with a sharp, icy glare.

“Is that a problem, Mr. Potter?”

The one probably least surprised amongst all of them is Evelyne, who tosses an exasperated but terribly fond smile at him over her shoulder, one that makes something in Regulus’ chest go stupidly warm.

“I- Of course not!” Potter splutters. “I was- I was just surprised.”

Regulus hides a sneer by turning away again. The boy recognized his name, so Sirius must have at least mentioned him, no doubt filling Potter’s head with how much of a Death Eater scumbag his younger brother was.

It matters not. Perhaps he even deserves that.

“Come here,” Regulus orders, motioning at the center of an intricate runic circle etched on the wooden floorboards. “I need you to sit in the middle.”

Potter immediately does the exact opposite and doesn’t move from where he’s still standing by the front door.

Regulus heaves a sigh. “Are we going over this again, Mr. Potter? You-”

“It’ll help kill Voldemort?” Potter interrupts, and Regulus glances back at him again. “I mean, once you get rid of- of his anchor, you can make sure he stays gone forever?”

Regulus looks him in the eye.  “Yes. And as I promised you, you will come out of this unscathed, and I will return you safe and sound to your school.”

He doubts Dumbledore will raise the hue and cry, not when that will mean having to explain why he has turned Hogwarts into a trap for the Dark Lord and Potter into a social experiment, which means Sirius and Lupin will most likely not be informed until it’s absolutely necessary.

Although there’s a thought – perhaps Regulus will keep the boy here until the end of term. Exams are over, aren’t they? And when the boy fails to show up at King’s Cross, well, the resulting explosion will be worth the hassle of keeping the Potter boy around for a week or so.

Ideas for later.

Evelyne has not a spark of magic in her, and yet she seems to be doing a fine job of soothing the boy’s nerves. Regulus has no experience with children, and he still remembers each and every time James Potter and his Marauders humiliated him or landed him in the hospital wing ( _and turned his brother against him even before Regulus entered Hogwarts, and that more than anything is what he loathes James Potter for most_ ).

But this boy is – hopefully – not his father, and Regulus can compartmentalize and set aside a long-dead grudge when there are more important things to attend to. Still, Harry Potter doesn’t really mean much of anything to him, he doesn’t know him, and so he will save the boy’s life, but he will not go out of his way to be particularly kind about it.

It takes going on ten minutes before Potter finally acquiesces, shuffling over and shucking off his shoes when Regulus instructs him to.

The boy sits down at the center of the circle. Regulus raises his wand.

The circle flares to life.

 

* * *

 

Three hours later, Regulus – shaky and sweaty from magical exhaustion – staggers his way over to the couch, leaning gratefully on Evelyne as she helps him down. Kreacher transports the unconscious Potter boy onto the other couch.

“He should be fine,” Regulus mumbles, already halfway asleep himself. “But check him over?”

“Of course,” Evelyne assures, and the last thing Regulus feels before darkness swamps him is her lips on his forehead.

 

* * *

 

Voldemort screams the way his Horcruxes did when Regulus destroyed them, except this time is even more high-pitched and furious and window-rattling than before. This is the Dark Lord, dying once and for all, with no more Horcruxes to tether him to the world of the living, and Regulus is so, _so_ glad to see him go.

Potter watches from a careful distance away beside Evelyne and Kreacher, and he looks as relieved as Regulus and about ten times as awed once Regulus lowers his wand.

“Dad never told me you were so good with magic!” Potter announces enthusiastically, and Regulus snorts, glancing around. His apartment is a mess, and it isn’t going to feel clean again until he’s magically fumigated the place of any lasting reminders of Voldemort.

“I doubt he would,” Regulus mutters, pocketing his wand before stretching tiredly. He thinks he could sleep for another week.

“But,” Potter persists, green eyes curious. “He said you were dead.”

“Technically, I was,” Regulus reveals, falling gracefully onto the couch, smiling when Evelyne takes a seat next to him and leans into his shoulder. “I just didn’t stay dead, thanks to Kreacher.”

They all look at the old house-elf, who’s just entered with a tray of tea, and he croaks smartly, “Master Regulus would be lost without me.”

Regulus chuckles, and Evelyne muffles a laugh of her own as she thanks the elf for the tea because she knows full well what Regulus’ attempts at cooking look like. “Very likely.”

Potter grins a little too but when he looks at Regulus, he still seems… thrown.

“Dad said… you were a Death Eater,” Potter continues, less sure of himself now. “But that you got cold feet and ran away, and he said that’s why you were killed.”

“Did he?” Regulus hums noncommittally. “Well, perhaps he’s right.”

Evelyne elbows him none too gently.

“You just killed _Voldemort_ ,” Potter points out, hands waving and almost slopping his tea all down his front. “I don’t think a coward would’ve even _tried_ to face him, and you _killed_ him. _Dumbledore_ couldn’t do that. Dad and Tad say that the Headmaster’s been trying to get _me_ to do it.”

Regulus’ eyebrows rise. “Really? And you went running into his trap anyway?”

Potter flushes but his chin lifts defiantly. “Someone had to stop Voldemort!”

“And you thought a handful of first-years could do it?” Regulus counters, voice as dry as the Sahara.

Potter ducks his head. Evelyne elbows him again.

“I just- _Someone had to do it_ ,” Potter reiterates, and this time, his expression tips down to something too old for his face. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, ’cause that’s wrong, you know?”

Regulus says nothing. He has nothing to say. Evelyne squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back.

Perhaps this boy is more like Lily than James after all. He wonders how an eleven-year-old can understand something that took Regulus his entire Hogwarts career and several months in the Dark Lord’s service to learn.

“Drink your tea,” Regulus says abruptly, finishing off his own. “I’ll drop you off at Hogwarts, as promised. And I have letters you can give to Sirius and Dumbledore for me.”

If he spends another unnecessary minute in Potter’s presence, he thinks he might break out into hives.

 

* * *

 

Potter hugs him right before Regulus leaves him at the school gates.

“Thank you,” The boy says with all the brash honesty of a Gryffindor once he pulls back from Regulus’ stiff frame. One of his hands come up to brush over the near nonexistent scar on his forehead. “For this, and for Voldemort, but also for Dad. Because it was you, wasn’t it? The one who caught Wormta- I mean Pettigrew. You freed Dad.”

“…No matter the bad blood between us,” Regulus says after a long moment of stilted silence. “He is still my brother.”

Potter nods and smiles at him, and it looks like Lily’s smile, one of the few Regulus remembers from back when a certain red-haired Gryffindor spared the time to stop and help him with bullies.

“Then thank you,” Potter repeats earnestly. “Even if my dad never gets to say it to you, you got him out of Azkaban, and even if you didn’t mean to do it, you also got me a home, and you gave Tad one too. So – for everything – _thank you_.”

Regulus leaves after that. He doesn’t say _you’re welcome_. He was never looking for gratitude when he started this crusade.

But… he supposes it does feel nice to be thanked for it anyway.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Regulus waits until he sees two familiar figures sprinting down the front steps of Hogwarts towards the gates that Potter is standing at before apparating away. The boy actually looked dismayed at having to go home after the week he spent at Regulus’ place. Regulus will never be able to understand the kid’s mind.

In the letters, he included both an explanation of Voldemort’s Horcruxes and why he took Potter, as well as the details of the spellwork and ritual that Regulus invented to extract the Horcrux from Potter’s scar, just in case his brother or the Headmaster doesn’t believe it is truly gone.

He also gives Potter a satchel to pass on for him, full of Voldemort’s former Horcrux containers, now reduced to worthless, blackened objects, the only remnants of a madman’s bid for immortality.

He doesn’t include an explanation of who he is or how he survived or where he’s been for the past thirteen years. The Potter boy can talk about him of course – Regulus decided against tampering with his memory or anything similar – but the Fidelius will prevent him from leading anyone to Regulus’ doorstep, and Regulus himself has no desire to reveal himself.

Voldemort is dead.

And Regulus is free.

It leaves him feeling almost… wrong-footed. Thirteen years spent waging his own personal war against Voldemort, and now he’s done. It is a jarring sensation but not – he thinks – in a bad way.

Not in a bad way at all.

 

* * *

 

One month later, there is a knock on his door. Evelyne has a shift at the hospital so it’s just Regulus that morning, enjoying the breakfast Kreacher made him.

He’s been following the papers. There’s been no mention of Voldemort in the Prophet, so Regulus is cautiously optimistic about remaining legally dead as far as the Ministry is concerned. He didn’t think Dumbledore or even Sirius would try to have him ‘resurrected’ so to speak, even after Potter spills all, because that’s an acromantula nest nobody would want to touch for fear of the mess that would follow, but there’s no accounting for human stupidity.

It’s been a month though, well into a cool, wet summer with nary a word or rumour from anyone. Still, Regulus is cautious as he goes to open the door. Kreacher is packing up a lunch for Evelyne, and despite Kreacher’s protests, Regulus has gotten used to doing some things for himself.

“ _You have two hands and two legs in perfect working order_ ,” as Evelyne would chide. “ _'_ _Menial tasks' are certainly_ not _beneath you._ ”

He opens the door.

Harry Potter stands there, smiling up at him. He’s wearing a thin long-sleeve and jeans but also his Gryffindor scarf. His hair is as windswept as a Potter’s always is.

“Hi.”

Regulus is free. But his past, it seems, isn’t quite willing to let him go just yet after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


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